


thoughts from a survivor

by ballerinaroy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: He’d thought it before, the first time around. How young they’d all looked. In comparison those sitting here now were infants. Constantly he fought the urge to curse the bright looks out of their eyes.Aberforth Dumbledore in the second war.





	thoughts from a survivor

Did they know of what happened of those before them? The fate of those who had taken the torch in the first war? The lives of the people whos chairs they fill with no regard for the reverence of empty space?

So few of them had made it to the second. One by one picked off with equally terrible deaths.

“Fools,” Mad-Eye would growl when laughter dominated their meetings. “All of them.”

This Aberforth could agree with. They were all fools, even he, to think their efforts would be enough to spare their lives. Perhaps they were the only ones to understand it. They were among the few who could see the ghosts of the Order before them.

Did they know their fate too?

One day this war would be over, because, in the end, only one side could prevail. If it were anything like last time, half of the seats of the table would be empty. Lives cut off. Too young to even know what they were giving up.

He’d thought it before, the first time around. How young they’d all looked. In comparison those sitting here now were infants. Constantly he fought the urge to curse the bright looks out of their eyes.

And then there was the Potter boy and those friends of him. Not even of age and Albus was sending them to their fate. Aberforth knew the prophecy, he’d overheard what had been whispered in his own establishment. Of a boy born in July who would be the only one with the power to defeat Riddle.

But he’d never understood his bother’s ability to ignore everyone else’s feelings for the sake of his own plan. They were children, accomplished children, sure, but too young to have a fate thrust upon them.

“In case of my death,” Albus said, just weeks before it, passing a broken mirror across the table.

“Are you planning on dying?” Aberforth replied, pocketing the mirror.

“At my age, it would be foolish planning otherwise,” Albus answered.

Aberforth made a point of looking at his hand, crusted and dying. Aberforth had spent too long running an unsavory pub not to notice the signs. But he wouldn’t argue, he never had.

“What’s it for?” he asked of the mirror.

“Mr. Potter has the other half, should he desperately need help I expect he’ll call upon it."

“You don’t trust me,” Aberforth accused, even as he pocketed the mirror.

“You’ve never wanted to be in my confidence.”

They never spoke again. 

Estrangement was a strong word for them. It implied a relationship prior, something to break. Albus had always been too busy for them, too bright. Even as a boy Albus had had no interest in his younger brother. The shared the same name and parents but their bond was never deeper. Particularly when Albus pledged himself to the study of magic and Aberforth his loyalty to his family.

Perhaps if Albus hadn’t been his brother he could have been remarkable. But it was hard for any sort of brilliance to penetrate his brother’s shadow. So Aberforth had found a way to make himself comfortable in the background, figured out a way to make himself unseen. He emerged only when needed, did his job and volunteered for nothing more.

The ministry had fallen, the order shortly after. Chaos because his brother had never trusted enough people with enough secrets. He’d promised to mind the mirror and nothing more. Aberforth didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

It was everyone’s responsibility to fight against Voldemort and he would do his part just as he had before. Not with the meetings and secret plotting but with information and overheard conversations. A pub was the perfect place for him, unsuspecting, simple. His job was to serve his customers, provide them with a place where they could feel at ease enough to have loose tongues and report back his findings to whoever asked.

Less and less people asked. More and more died. Potter never called and Aberforth saw his mission as complete. 

And then, as Aberforth ate alone one evening, a ghost appeared in his sister’s portrait and climbed down his mantle.

“Longbottom, Neville Longbottom sir,” the boy said and even as he spoke Aberforth could see his father in his hungered face.

“And what you here for?”

But it was obvious, from the way he stared hungrily at the scraps on his side table.

“They not feeding you at the school, boy?” Aberforth growled, pushing the plate towards him and standing.

“It’s not safe for us to go to meals,” the boy explained even as he shamelessly sat in the empty chair and shoved an entire mouthful in his hands. “And we don’t know how to conjure food-“

“You can’t conjure food,” Aberforth snapped from the stove, lighting the burner with his wand and summoning more meat from the icebox. “Don’t they teach you anything at that school, boy?”

Neville flushed but didn’t say anything. Aberforth passed him a glass of mead.

“How many are there of you, hiding out?” he asked.

“Half a dozen,” he answered, “But our numbers are just going to grow once they realize we’re not getting caught.”

Aberforth shook his head, but had nothing more to say. The remains of his meal were demolished before he could make him a proper plate and when he set it before the weaning boy, he scarcely cut his meat before shoving it into his mouth.

“You’re Dumbledore’s brother, aren’t you?” Neville asked when he’d swallowed.

“Aye,” he answered. “Aberforth Dumbledore, at your service.”

Neville reached out and shook his hand as if just remembering his manners. “Has this passage been here long?”

“You’re the first to impose yourself,” he grunted. “I suppose things must be bad at the school if it’s sending it’s students to a pub.”

The boy nodded, taking another swig of mead. “Think it’ll hold long enough to get us out?”

“And where would you go?” he said harshly. “Nowhere is safe and so long as you’re certain those monsters the Carrows can’t get in, you’re as safe there as you would be anywhere.”

Neville didn’t flinch at his tone but nodded thoughtfully. “We can’t survive without food. I suppose Gran could start sending rations here-“

He couldn’t help his burst of laughter. “Augusta showing her face around here would be just as bad as that Potter boy coming round for a pint.”

“Well, then how do you suppose we survive then?” Neville asked and though his tone was calm Aberforth could tell he was getting under the boy’s skin.

“I run a pub, don’t I? No one’s going to blink if I put in an extra food order a week.” Said Aberforth trying not to feel stung at the look of surprise on the boy’s face. Did he really think that he wouldn’t help? “How many do you think’ll join you?”

He couldn’t save them, but he could do his part to make sure that their children didn’t die before getting a chance to raise their wands.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr? ](https://ballerinaroy.tumblr.com/)


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